


Just a rather very intelligent system

by blue_scribbles



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22680559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_scribbles/pseuds/blue_scribbles
Summary: It was just supposed to be an ordinary AI, but Tony had always been one for overkill. – Tony and JARVIS through the ages.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 56
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2019





	Just a rather very intelligent system

**Author's Note:**

  * For [attolia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/attolia/gifts).
  * A translation of [Bloß ein ziemlich intelligentes System](https://archiveofourown.org/works/328685) by [apfelhalm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apfelhalm/pseuds/apfelhalm). 



> This is a translation as part of the Marvel Trumps Hate auction 2019, and is based on the original german work "Bloß ein ziemlich intelligentes System" by apfelhalm.  
> Once again a big thank you to Attolia for comissioning me and proof reading!

**v.0.0**

_At twelve years old one shouldn't need a chaperon anymore. Other kids would be proud._

That very well may be. If it just wouldn't be a cheap excuse to elope before noon, leaving him behind again. Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad.

Of course Tony had a bunch of new toys. However even the new Super Soaker 3001 would loose it's appeal without anyone to have a water hose fight with. And the Security-Guy outside in the surveilliance lodge (apparently he couldn't be left without any supervision after all) wasn't looking all too happy after the third shower of water. Tony didn't want to risk it a fourth time – at least not in the next hour.

Anyway. He neither needed the dumb Super Soaker, nor anyone for a hose fight, because he had an _idea_. A damn good idea that is, if he was able to implement it but he didn't doubt that. After all he was Howard Stark's son.

With a short key sequence he created a new register in the system, after a few moments of brooding he was typing again.

Project name: J.A.R.V.I.S.

The best toy at his disposal would always be the tech. He could've probably disassembled and put back together the old data processor he build from his father's old hardware in his sleep. There wasn't a single interface he didn't know or understand. (However when his father threw him a clinical look or turned his back on him, he felt terribly helpless, as if he didn't know the answer to an unspoken question. An equation he didn't know the intention for.) He _got_ computers. Binary codes and integrated circuits always did what they were made for. But sometimes, just sometimes, it would've been a change if computers understood him.

Creation date: … |

Tony hesitated for a minute, while the cursor continued to blink at him. At the age of twelve one really didn't need any chaperon anymore, he thought. And most kids would've really been proud. Still he bit his lip before entering the date.

**v.1.3.1.5**

Tony was drunk. Technically this would still be considered illegal at his age. Practically he didn't give a shit. After 849 condolence cards, 156 hands shaken and with the hound dogs of the press right in front of the house ( _his_ house, that's what it was now) – after all that he deserved it: to pillage the minibar of his dead old man and forget everything.

He had started with the champaign and worked his way up according to the alcohol's percentage – when he got to the $2000 Single Malt, the world was already spinning pleasantly and 13 missed calls from Obie were blinking on the voicemail inbox.

Cradling the bottle of Whiskey like a small baby in his arms, he roamed through the empty halls rounding all the doors that led to especially personal rooms of his parents: the bedroom, his mother's office, his father's workshop. He hadn't been here since graduating from MIT. Yet after just half a week of being back, he was already going stir-crazy. He had never liked this house. Too massive, too dark, too _Howard._ He will probably sell it and build a new one. Something he could _breathe_ in.

With an uncoordinated kick he pushed open the door to his old room. It was like he had suddenly traveled five years back in time: posters about cars and rockets on the wall, shelves filled to the brim with finished and unfinished robots, piles of computer magazines on the floor (hidden inbetween multiple porn magazines) and five generations of self-made Tony Stark-processors. Nothing had changed. Absolutely nothing.

_If only._

Another gulp out of the bottle drowned the mix of melancholy and absolute helplessness threatening to spread inside him. Like always when he was wasted and didn't want to be confronted with complicated emotions, Tony got ants in his pants. Or rather in his hands. Most of the time a new project or a bit of tech was helpful, but sometimes a pretty college student with long eyelashes and soft skin would do just as well.

Lacking the latter Tony knew which choice to pick. He pulled the oldest computer out of a corner and connected it to the power grid, screen and home network in less than a minute. With a few other flicks of his wrists the thing was booted up and he was clicking himself with various commands through the harddrive. Most of it wasn't even noteworthy – fun but trivial fiddlings of a child, which he acknowledged with a quiet huff and resumed to ignore them. Until...

“Hell- _oo,_ what do we have here ...?“

Tony exhaled a flat whistle, as he selected one of the registers and opened the last edited project. A quiet beep resounded while the programm started and a modest Interface was loaded.

_//Good evening, Tony.//_

Tony's eyebrows basically shot up straight into his hairline. With a quick glance he checked the programm's name again (JARVIS v.1.3.1.5) and yes, he _remembered:_ his fist try at creating an AI. Something that could not only listen but also answer him. Something – “someone“ – who would care if he had something to say.

_Good evening,_ he typed back. 

_//you haven't activated me in 8 years, 267 days, 7 hours, 32 minutes and 12 seconds. How are you?//_

For a moment he just stared at the screen. For nearly a year he had grappled with this project back then, he had calculated probabilities, saved behavioural patterns and fed the programm with data. Then school came, then MIT and the general way of life and the project had been forgotten. Until now.

_How's the weather?,_ he asked randomly, while he took another sip of Whiskey.

_//The temperature is 75°Fahrenheit._ _It is calm and only slightly cloudy. Perfect conditions for a water hose fight.//_

Tony's mouth around the neck of the bottle twisted into a crooked grin. Hose fight, alright. “Let's see how far one can exhaust you.“

Tony began to test his own programm. A strange experience because he didn't know what to expect. He was astounded as he got easy answers to most of his questions, simulating a passable yet staged conversation. The programm had basic knowledge in sciences like mathematics, computer science, physics and electrical engineering (everything on the level of his school book back then), additionally it had access to the local weather stations and could notice simple correlations. Regarding social interaction on the other hand, humour, figures of speech, simply everything making a conversation authentic, the thing was hopelessly overwhelmed. Tony might have been a genius at the age of twelve, but even he hadn't been able to create a decent AI with his past means and knowledge. One look on the source code confirmed his suspicions: Those functions still left much to be desired.

_ Tell me a joke. _

_ //negativ. Function not available.// _

_ I want to hear a joke. _

_ //I am sorry, Tony. I am not programmed to do this.// _

Tony irritatedly rolled his eyes. The keyboard rattled as he typed in one single word:  _ Jerk. _

_ //error. Unknown vocabulary.// _

Yet again, more emphatically and totally missing:  _ Jrek. _

_ //error. Maybe you want to check your spelling.// _

Great. An AI that claimed not to know swearwords, but still rubbed the spelling in his face. Tony didn't know if he should laugh or format the hard drive. He wanted to phrase an ingenious, witty and cynic comment – until he realized that it would probably be wasted on his AI. So he typed a simple:  _ Asshole  _

_ //invalid expression.// _

“Okay, that's enough.“

He put the bottle of Whiskey beside him (not having drunken from it since the last half an hour anyway), before rubbing his hands together. The approach for J.A.R.V.I.S wasn't bad, but sadly totally outdated. The programm needed a bigger database, massive changes in the source code, an improved, updated user interface, maybe even voice control. But above all it needed one thing.

“You have a shit sense of humour dear chap.“, Tony murmured, while sending himself copies of all the files to his server. “We have to change that.“

**v.2.1**

“Tony. _Tony._ “

Obadaiah's voice  _ sounded  _ formal after his embrace and a well-meaning pat on the shoulder. Tony switched the receiver to the other side and tucked it back between his ear and shoulder, so he could still type. 

“I know that you didn't take Howard and Maria's accident well but the company–“

“The company can still relinquish me for a bit longer. I am not entitled to assume it anyway, remember?“

With the press of a key the computer began to compile the pieces, that were already coded. Tony didn't follow that but instead opened five new files to alternately add bits of code to them.

“Yes but it isn't good for you. You've hid away for months. How about you come with me instead? A few meetings, get in touch with the world again ...“

“Obie“, Tony interrupted once more, this time more urgently. “I am working on something. Just give me a little bit of time.“

“Is that so? What are you working on?“

Tony didn't know what this was about – the curious, nearly desirous tone in Obies voice, the fact that he already invested more time in this project than he had in his thesis, the feeling that he was hoping for  _ something  _ to come out of it, without knowing exactly what. (The knowledge that working on JARVIS had given him his focus back and that it had, not exactly filled, but distracted him from the Howard-shaped hole in his life.)

He didn't know, what made him do it, but he hesitated. He paused, leaned back in his chair and as he off-handedly answered, too much time had already passed.

“Just an intelligent system.“ A rather very intelligent system. So much so that it could probably turn the whole industry upside down, but Obie didn't have to know that. Nobody needed to. JARVIS was _his_ project.

“Uh-huh ...“ Obadaiah seemed to pause for a moment too. “Do you need any resources from the company?“

“No, I've got everything I need. Besides it's more of a, uhm, private project.“

“Alright. I get it. But promise me one thing, Tony?“

“Yes?“

“Come back soon.“

Tony nodded involuntarily and unnecessarily at the phone, making it nearly slip from his shoulder. He only managed to get a grip on it in the last second.

“Soon. Just this one thing.“

**v.3.0**

He had fibbed – It had taken longer than a few months to have JARVIS actually finally functioning. To be precise it had taken years, but since Tony had come back from his exile in the meantime and taken over the company anyway Obadaiah couldn't possibly complain.

“Okay, soon we'll get it ...“, he muttered, while patting the screen like wanting to calm a horse before it's first big race. Even though he was the one with fluttery nerves. (Which could also be because of the four cups of coffee he's had.)

Of couse he had activated JARVIS' functions one after another, extended them, rewritten them – for anything remaining he had written a program allowing JARVIS to enhance himself. Shit, it wouldn't take much more and JARVIS would practically code himself. There never really would be an end to his advancement, but the voice check did bear something strangely final. His hands flew over the keyboard and with some final keystrokes he confirmed his prior input.

“JARVIS? Can you hear me?“

A relentless string of system messages filled the sceen and disclosed to Tony that JARVIS was by all means reacting to his question. Nevertheless he got no answer, neither through letters nor through the voice, that should've resounded. The microphones and speakers were definitely active, so this couldn't be the problem.

“... JARVIS?“ huh. Maybe he should try to reboot but then it would–

_//Good day, Sir. How can I help you?//_

Tony prided himself upon _not_ having hit the ceiling out of fright but instead just having thrown a ballpoint pen seven feet away from him.

“JARVIS!“ He yelled a bit panicy but still honestly enthusiastic because – _wow_ , JARVIS was talking to him. With sound and all that, not with glowing letters only. “Nice to hear you!“

_//My pleasure, Sir.//_

Tony made a mocking impression of a bow as a greeting. Just now could he really appreciate and cherish his AI's brand new mellifluous voice. It had been, in fact, the perfect choice. (of course.)

“Good. Then please tell me if the connections all work right. And the acoustic's settings in here are not quite – can you dial the speaker to my right up 15 percent? … Yes, that one.“ Tony was already bending over his computer again to smooth out some minor bugs that were already getting obvious. Seemingly off-handedly he also added:“Oh, and while you're at it … tell me a joke.“

_//Oh, sure Sir. Should I download one from the internet or make one up?//_ , JARVIS retorted after a short pause. Tony wouldn't have expected it but his voice sounded, in all seriousness, nasally. Peeved. Sarcastic. And the best thing about it was that he was even trying to carry it off well.

“Oh, no, just forget it“, Tony put off, but he couldn't help but silently grin internally.

British.  _I_ said  _it has to be a british accent._

**v.4.2.9**

“Tony, I didn't get one word of what you just said. Pepper do you have an idea what he's talking about?“

Rhodey's voice resonated with slight despair but Pepper just shrugged cluelessly and resumed to peruse Tony's schedule on her PDA.

“If you're so curious then ask JARVIS“, she murmured, while typing something. “I've given up on wanting to understand Mr. Stark's technical effusions a long time ago.“

Tony, who had followed the conversation only peripherally, pulled his safety googles back on the bridge of his nose. He had, god knows, better things to do – Science! Weapons! New rockets for the Army! – , but since he could never refrain from letting such statements be uncommented, he payed them a little bit of his attention.

“Pepper. _Pep._ – I can call you Pep, can I? Surely I can do that. – You should really pay more attention to my effusions.“ Tony felt Pepper's piercing look on his back and decided to refrain from describing the exact nature of effusions. Silently though he smirked about the effortlessness with which she stood up to him. So far none of his assistants had endured him for this long. (whereas “long“ meant three months, two weeks and one and a half days.) Maybe he had finally hit the jackpot with Pepper. “You too by the way, Rhodey, after all I do this for you too. – JARVIS, power up to 60 %.“

_//As you wish.//_

Tony leaned further over the mess of wires that only had any kind of recognizable pattern to him and JARVIS, only they could read it, make _sense_ of it. While JARVIS was navigating the blowtorch with a grappler at one end of the object, on the other end Tony was pinpointing the soldering iron exactly on the bits that had to be linked to each other. For a few moments it was silent until Rhodey's stunned voice interrupted.

“Wait a second, since when do you let this thing anywhere near your projects?“

“That thing has a name and gets pissed off very fast. – And since I need an assistant that actually gets what I want to do and doesn't immediately set everything on fire.“

“Tony, you have the best trained assistants we could find in the whole of California!“

“Yepp. I _had._ I fired them.“

“Fired?!“ He could practically hear Rhodey pulling his own hair out. “Tony, you can't – those rockets get used by the army and you let your _butler_ work on them?“

_//General Rhodes, I am, by all means, in the position to administrate the house, operate the security system, brew your favoured kind of latte macchiato_ and  _assist Mr. Stark with his experiments. Since Mr. Stark already saves his blueprints on my servers, this was merely the next logical step.//_

JARVIS had this _inflection_ again, that had Tony grinning amused (and maybe a bit proud too) and turning around to see how Rhodey would react. The latter just stood there, and kept looking from Pepper to Tony and back in the air, for lack of a body, which could've represented JARVIS.

“Like I was saying, he's pissed off quickly. But you know“, Tony began lightly, while he leaned towards him. “I believe he actually likes you very much.You just have to become comfortable with him.“

Rhodey considered him with a merciless look. “I hate you. You know that, right?“

Tony's grin grew even wider, before he turned around forcefully again and tended to his project. “Could I now ask you to leave me and JARVIS alone? And please do not disturb anymore. Or else the house will blow up in our face.“

**v.5.7.1**

After his return, after the press conference, after he had possibly ruined his company with his decision, after the discussion with Obadaiah, after having sent Pepper home with repeated affirmations and nodding (Yes, he was fine and no, he didn't need anything else).

_ After that  _ Tony numbly entered his workshop, let himself lean on the door, sink down to the floor and buried his head between his knees. He was dying of thirst. All the talking, the cheeseburger and even more talking had made his mouth sticky. Maybe Dummy could get him a drink without spilling anything or burn down the workshop. Maybe. Well better not to even try. 

“JARVIS?“

It didn't even take the fraction of a second until the screens flickered and the systems were booting up.

_//Yes, Sir?//_

“... I am home“, he murmered after a brief pause and felt stupidly foolish afterwards. Of course he was home. JARVIS probably knew since he set foot on the compound. Anyway he had to say it, call it back to mind: He was _home._

And he was dying of thirst.

_//Welcome back, Sir.//_

“Did you miss me?“

_ //Every day// _ , came the suave answer. Tony imagined to have heard a note of well-meaning mockery.

“Good.“ He picked himself up, feeling like an old man with rheumatic afflictions. Three months of being a war prisoner and he was already rusting, dammit. “Then you can start to prove it already and tell me where Pepper hid the scotch. – and don't even try to deny she did it because I know her.“ Tony thought for a second, before he corrected himself:“Because she knows _me._ “

_//Sir, maybe it would be advisable to follow Miss Pott's subtle hint and choose less of an high percentage bevearage instead of scotch. Solid food would also be benifitial for your recovery.//_

“Do not believe everything you read on the internet“, Tony stated flatly. “A bit of scotch is exactly right for my recovery right now.“

He began to frisk his workshop systematically: The shelves with electrical odds and ends, the boxes with the recently shipped outlets, even the small kitchen Tony never used besides for heating up coffee or chemicals. Nothing, nada, niente.

“You know, I'd be faster if you'd just _tell_ me.“, he called into the room, while regretting once again to have designed not only a sarcastic but also a stubborn AI. Behind him a buzz rang out. As he turned around, Dummy slowly drove towards him with a glass of water.

_//I stick to it. You should probably start with something non-alcoholic.//_

Tony paused, watched the glass and actually considered for a moment to surrender. He was thirsty enough to humor JARVIS this one time. One cup of water and Tony could get himself another bottle of scotch somewhere else. Furthermore slowly he didn't care about what he drank anymore, as long as he got something. He wanted to reach for the glass but something made him stop. This smell. One became aware of the fact that there hasn't been anyone working in the workshop for a long while: the stale air, machine oil, burned metal scraps.

He was dying of thirst.

… _he is dying of thirst, because it is constantly stuffy warm in the cave and he couldn't even quickly tear open a window to aerate. Why even? The outside would be only warmer after all._

_In the corner is a barrel with water. Sometimes, when the thirst was getting unbearable, he forced himself to drink a ladle full, but never more than that. The water had a weird aftertaste, he didn't want to think about further and in the past couple weeks and days he repeatedly nearly drowned in there. He didn't want to think about that too._

“Cut the bullshit!“, he snapped indignantly, swiped the glass out of Dummy's grip, letting it shatter on the floor, clanking. As if paralysed he stared at the puddle of water to his feet. The thought that he had wanted to drink something now made him nauseous. And he was still thirsty.

_//Sir, there are still other beverages at your disposal, if water doesn't appeal to you.//_

“Don't distract me from the topic. I can decide for myself what I drink, got it?“

… _the plunge through the water's surface_ _shocks him every time, even if Tony could by now not only guess the rhythm but practically calculate it. Sometimes he forgets to draw a deep enough breath and thinks: This could be the last time that they dip me under. Sometimes he thinks_ hopefully _this will be the last time, but he never had been lucky enough._

_He drowns hundrets of times. But always only nearly._

_//Sir?//_

JARVIS' voice sounded strangely far away through the pounding in his ears. Tony decided to just ignore him and instead find a solid object to hold on to so that maybe the room would stop swaying. Table, no, workbench. Workbench would do. Taking heavy breaths he leaned forward, wanted to support himself. But he slipped when he could only grasp a smoldering iron which skidded to the floor. His chest seemed to be constricting around the arc-reactor. Ice cold sweat was prickling on his neck.

_He's dying of thirst, he's drowning, he's choking and the damned car battery is nearly sliding from his hands each time. Is banging against the outside of the barrel and makes this lousy noise, muffled and tinny, everytime he's under water. It's cutting off a little bit more of his air each time._

_ //Mister Stark?//  _ JARVIS' voice was bearing something that Tony couldn't really place. Concern? No, he wasn't programmed for this kind of emotion. He shouldn't care, shouldn't  _ be worried _ . But maybe he was just imagining things. It was hard to have a clear thought when one's surroundings were so fickle and one felt like suffocating.  _ //Should I call Miss Potts?// _

“Miss Potts?“ Tony stared at his hands and couldn't place the name for a tiny, crazy second.

_ //Miss Potts, Sir. Virginia Potts, also called Pepper. Ginger hair, blue eyes, 5'9 feet tall . You hired her to be your personal assistant five years ago.// _

“Don't shit me, I know that myself“, Tony retorted. He wasn't sure if it was due to the talking or listening but he got some of his focus back. “What's with her?“

_ //Should I call her?// _

“No. No … leave her. I just need …“

But he didn't know what he needed. He just wanted to get rid of the tremor in his hands. Oh, and breathing would be great too. 

_ //Sir?// _

“What.“

_ //You weren't yet updated about the events of the last three months. Do you want me make good of it now?// _

There was a short, deafening silence, in which Tony couldn't hear anything except for the pounding and rushing in his ears. He wanted to snap at JARVIS, where he got this crackpot idea from, but that would've taken too much effort. He already had to pull himself together, so he wouldn't get nauseous, and he decided without further ado that he would rather listen to JARVIS' snappy remarks than to nothing. 

“Right. Update. What happened the past three months. How many babies Brangelina adopted by now. – Go ahead. Tell me what I missed.“

_ //As you wish, Sir.// _

And JARVIS began recalling the news of the past three months, filtered them according to their relevance and started to update Tony. It was mostly irrelevant stuff, that had no global impact, or consequences, which Tony would've still, if he had been there, registered with a sort of interest: Technological innovations (most of them weren't exactly  _ new  _ to Tony but it was good to know that the rest of the world was slowly catching up), changes in the stock market and the staff of competing companies as well as pop culture and gossip. 

Tony hated gossip but realized how the tightness around his reactor was slowly receding, while he was rolling his eyes on the newest article from Christine Everhart. Tony also noticed – somewhere buried deep under the numbness of his thoughts –, that there were some discussions about politics but not one word about the middle east.

At some point he managed to release his iron grip from the workbench. His fingers were numb and tingled uncomfortably while the blood flowed back into them. 

“JARVIS?“

_ //Yes, Sir?// _

“This never happened“, he murmured. He really had no desire for Pepper, or Obie to be standing on his doorstep tomorrow about to beat him to some doctors. And because he was having one of his weak moments and was feeling like it, he also quietly added: “Thank you.“

JARVIS seemed to be struggling for words because it took longer than the programmed 1.5 seconds of latency for him to respond.

_ //Of couse, Sir.// _

Then he continued his monolouge, inexhaustible and consistent in his british singsong, until Tony's eyes – without him wanting to – were growing heavy. He didn't object when JARVIS casually suggested for him to lay on the couch – He didn't have the energy for that.

The last thing he noticed was how Dummy came driving towards him with an old wool blanket in his grappler, spread it over Tony and left with a quiet buzz again. At one point he believed to have heard the hiss of a fire extinguisher but he had practically fallen asleep by then. 

** v.6.7 **

“JARVIS?“

_ //Yes, Sir?// _

“I need your grapplers for a second here.“

_ //Of course. What is it about?// _

“I just dislocated my shoulder at the mission.“

_ //I do not think I am qualified to –// _

“No hospitals.“

_ //But at least a–// _

“No doctors.“

_ //Maybe you should then–// _

“Either you help me, or I'm doing it on my own.“

_ //At your service, Sir.// _

“Thought so.“

** v.7.3.2 **

“... and that would be the workshop, with which we conclude our little tour in Casa de Stark“, Tony rattled off bored. 

It took a little bit of effort for him to step to the side and let Rogers step inside his sanctuary, but the guy had put on such a hopeful and curious look, that if Tony had snubbed him now somewhere a puppy dog would most certainly die. 

“Wow. That's really impressive, To- Stark.“

Tony could see that he was really meaning it and didn't just want to apple-polish him. Rogers' blue, blue eyes mustered his robot with a sort of fascinated wonder, that nobody could've even  _ tried _ to fake. Tony also saw the quick glint in his gaze when he spotted his row of cars and grimly pressed his lips together. 

_ So even 'Mister Righteous Teamplayer' get's weak in the face of a mustang. Good to know. _

“Listen. Not that I don't feel honored for the great Captain America to pay me a visit, etcetera pp.“ He began and waved around in the air, with his hands and a screwdriver he had randomly picked up. “But  _ why  _ are you here?“

“Uhm.“ Rogers looked embarrased for a moment and rubbed his hand down his neck. “Honestly, I wanted to apologize. For the incident in the meeting recently.“

“Why? I was an ass, you told me off and I still was right. We shouldn't flog this to death.“

Rogers, who until now had appeared to be neutrally friendly, was getting this irritated look again, which he seemed to have reserved especially for Tony. “That's not true!“

“What? That I was right, or that I behaved like an ass?“

“Uhm, that– I–“, stuttered Steve – Rogers,  _ Rogers  _ – and Tony could see how his neck slowly reddened. Hard to tell if it was out of embarrasment or anger but the sight had something … something fascinating. Huh.

“Like I said: Let's not flog it to death.“ With a bleak smile Tony put the screwdriver away again. Rogers' eyebrows were knitting themselves together a little further, the redness crept up to his hairline and for a short moment there was silence. Then:

“Why?“

“Why what?“

“Why are you always so ...“ Now Rogers was the one to gesture haphazardly, while he was struggling for words. The irritation in his eyes mixed with helplessness, then turned into anger again, until he ultimately gave up. “Nevermind. Forget it.“

He took a few more steps through the workshop and his build seemed unusually big between all the workbenches, even though he couldn't be taller than Tony by more than half a head. He stopped at one of his holographic tables. Tony had worked on it (until Cap had called him out of the workshop), that's why the last project was still circling through the air in slow motions. 

“Is that the jet that's planned for the missions?“

“It's a first draft for it, yes.“

Steve stared intently at the holo-projection, as if he actually tried to understand what Tony had fabricated: The construction, the seperate components, how they were connected to each other. Once again he got this distant look and Tony couldn't pinpoint if it was the prototype or the holo-table in itself, that fascinated him like this. 

“You have a good sense for aesthetic“, he said abruptly while he was leaning closer and the hologram casted a glowing blue shadow over his face. “I don't get a lot of what you're doing – It had already been like this with Howard –, but this I noticed. Same with the armour.“

Tony flinched impalpably when his father's name was mentioned. Of course the super soldier and his old man had known each other, had been something like friends even. Another reason (besides “Big man in a suit of armour,  _ take that off _ what are you?“) why both of them in one room couldn't end up well: too much of  _ the past. _

“It looks so realistic …“, he heard him murmur. One of his big hands came up, as if to touch the holo-projection.

“Ah–“, Tony began, but it was already too late. The hologram collapsed into a glowing ball of components, before disappearing into the tabletop.

“Oh.“ Rogers' eyes widened in fright, began to grow nearly panicked. “I'm sorry, I thought– Oh God, have I–“ 

_ //Don't worry, Captain Rogers. The prototype is completely extant. However did Mr. Stark recently work on some diverse technical fine tuning, you should better not be altering. If you wish I could make a copy for you though.// _

Roger's flinched noticably, when JARVIS' voice suddenly spoke up and, okay, Tony noticed the baffled expression with Schadenfreude. A little bit at least. Or maybe a lot. 

“Don't panic. That's JARVIS, my AI. JARVIS, Captain America. Cap, may I introduce? JARVIS my artificial intelligence. He manages the house, brews perfect coffee, operates the functions in my suit and keeps me alive in various ways. – Did I mention his coffee? Without three cups of that I would be 'non compos mentis' in the morning.“

“Ah.“ Rogers still looked confused, glanced alternatedly between Tony and the ceiling, as if he was expecting to see a big face pop out of there at any moment. Then his words seemed to have finally made their way to his brain. “So you're JARVIS? Who also operates the armour?“

_ //Exactly. Good day, Captain Rogers. It's a pleasure to meet you. I've already heard a lot about you.// _

“Oh. Really?“, Rogers asked sceptically and with one raised eyebrow. He fixed his eyes on Tony.

_ //Really. An internet search alone adds up to five gigabyte of information. There's also the old files from the deceased Howard Stark and various SHIELD-documents, which Mr. Stark uploaded to me for safe-keeping.// _

“That's a lot of– wait a second. You copied my SHIELD-file?!“

Tony shrugged impassive and shamelessly. “Hey, my company paid for the expedition that fished you out of the ice! So I'm kind of entitled to that information. Even though Fury begs to differ.“

_ //To be exact Mr. Fury said that this is quote 'not your fucking business, Stark, and should I find out that you'd try anyway, then you should pray to be far, far away when I do.', unquote. Which didn't stop you from hacking into the SHIELD-servers and downloading any accessible data about you and the Avengers-initiative, Sir.// _

Traitor.

“Traitor“, Tony said. “If you stab me in the back one more time I'll let you calculate only algorithms for a week. _And_ you're on babysitting duty for Dummy.“

_ //As you wish, Sir.// _

“Don't give me that 'as you wish' bullshit. You have that tone in your voice again.“

_ //I'm sorry, Sir.// _ , JARVIS said. It even nearly sounded honest. 

Then something happened, that Tony hadn't expected: Rogers gave a laugh. Just short, a small silent “Ha!“ in a big workshop, but it was genuine and unguarded and he had this amused glow in his eyes, that Tony had never seen before on him. 

Then he realized that this was the first time that he had  _even_ seen him laughing. Tony gulped.

“I'm sorry. It's just – the two of you ...“ Rogers pointed from the ceiling to Tony and back again. Facing Tony, with still the ghost of a smile on his face, he asked:“How did you come up with the idea? To develop something like … this?“

Tony thought back to that day with the Super Soaker, to the guy in the guard house, his father's annoyed look, his mother, who didn't even glance at him, while she adjusted her pearl necklace. He thought back to his old room, in which toys and electronics were piling up with nobody to share them with.

“Boredom“, he said expressionless. 

“Boredom?“

“I was a spoiled little genius at the age of twelve and my parents were away for two weeks. What was I supposed to do? I had the choice, to program JARVIS, or rebuild the washing machine into a robot – again – and the housemaid hadn't been keen of the water stains in the living room carpet and on the ceiling _the last time_ I did _._ And the security-guy already nearly had a mental breakdown, even though my parents hadn't been away longer than _a day._ “

“I see.“

_No, you don't,_ Tony thought, but Rogers had such a contemplative expression, that he didn't have the heart to talk smack to him again.

But maybe he was just afraid, that Rogers  _actually_ understood. 

**v.7.6.4.9**

He slammed to the ground with such force that the air was pressed out of his lungs.

“Ah, fuck …JARVIS?“

No answer.

“JARVIS?!“

The interfaces that were normally illuminating him stayed dead. In spite of the slits that served as his eyes, it could get pretty dark in a helmet, in which all systems had failed without warning. Tony didn't realize how his voice grew ever louder, how he was screaming against the silence in his helmet, until somebody helped him sit up. Muffled yelling filtered through the helmet and the manual release mechanism of his faceplate was triggered.

“Iron Man, everything okay?“

Black widow leaned over him and considered him with a critical look, which represented the equivalent of concern in her emotional repertoire towards Tony. He had just suddenly plunged  70 feet downwards – even with the armour this could've ended badly. The suit on the other hand was still astoundingly intact – apart from countless dents and scratches. Tony himself wasn't that intact anymore, but he could deal with a few bruised  ribs.

“What happened?“

That was Caps voice. Tony just noticed that he had been the one to help him sit up and who was still supporting him. He wanted to fob him off but he had to realized that moving without any electrical support in his suit was substantially more difficult. His arm waved one-, two times aimlessly in the air, until he let it alone again. Okay, no time for that nonsense.

“Does somebody have a phone?“ He asked unceremoniously, while he begann to release his right glove from it's bracket. After a few minutes of futile fumbling and slipping, Steve took pity on him and helped him open the locks.

“Tony, what _happened_?“

“The systems crashed. JARVIS is–“

But he didn't know what was up with JARVIS. He had just disappeared, without any outer influences, without having been hit. How even? The fight against the doombots had just been wrapped up.

“Phone“ he repeated stubbornly, a bit more harshly, and held his, now freed hand, oustretched.

“God, you can be such an ass“, Clint rasped. Nevertheless did he hand out his phone to Tony willingly. Tony snatched the phone (brand Starkphone) and let his thumb fly over the screen. Within a few seconds he had entered his personal home network and waited for feedback. If JARVIS was still online, when somebody had just cut the connection to his armour, when, then he should technically respond.

Ten seconds passed without answer. With that the normal minimum time was surpassed.

Fifteen seconds.

“Tony ...“

Twenty seconds.

Somebody, probably Steve, but maybe even Thor, pulled him to his feet again in one swift motion. He barely noticed how he came to a stand, swaying under the weight of the armour.

Thirty seconds.

Fourty.

Sixty.

Ninety.

Tony cut the connection.

“Maybe the Systems just shut own in the crash“, Clint suggested. He didn't seem to quite believe what he was saying either.

“No, god dammit, you don't get it!“ Tony snapped and suddenly threw the phone back at Clint, who caught it, without batting an eyelid.

Noone understood. The systems had failed _for no reason._ No system that Tony Stark invented just crashed for no reason, even JARVIS. _Especially_ not JARVIS. And the fact that he couldn't contact him, got no signal from his servers ...“It's not the armour. It's JARVIS. Someone must've attacked the main server.“

For a few seconds there was an akward silence. Then Tony began to sway again because Steve had let go of him without warning.

“Alright. The mission is over, here's nothing we can do at the moment“, the supersoldier said in his unmistakable Captain America voice, that didn't tolerate objections. “The clean up-corps will arrive soon. Iron Man you drive with us. I assume you can't fly anymore, can you?“

Tony pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“Okay. Avengers, departure.“

The others wordlessly began to move towards the jet and met Banner halfway there, who had shrunken down to normal size again. Tony hadn't moved an inch, even though his insides were screaming for a laptop to hack into his servers, or better even: to be in attendance. Cap put a hand on Tony's shoulder, which was pretty pointless, regarding he couldn't feel anything through the armour.

“We'll find out what happened, I promise.“

That too, was a pretty pointless promise, if one took into consideration how little Steve knew about computers. However Tony did feel a touch of gratefulness, maybe because Steve seemed to be the only one who understood what Tony was about. It wasn't about his data, or the security of his systems. That too but not marginally.

“JARVIS will be alright.“

Tony only gave him a joyless twitch of the corners of his mouth.

“We'll see.“

**v.7.7**

“Tony?“

“Hm.“

“Can I ask you something?“

“Hm“, Tony said in a minimally changed tone of voice and signalled Cap that he was listening. His fingers floated through the air to refine the Helicarrier's prototype, adding supporting beams, where they were necessary, check energy sources which had to work at a hundret percent in the case of an emergency. Not long and they'd start building.

He could hear paper crinkle behind his back ( _Paper –_ even though Tony had offered him a tablet to go through his mission reports, countless times), as Steve straightened in his sitting position. Since the incident with JARVIS he had gotten into the habit of keeping Tony company in the workshop, although Tony had, at first, ignored his presence, then tolerated it and ultimately integrated him more or less into his working process. Then they finally, finally had been able to free JARVIS from those Doom-virus' clutches.

And Steve was still coming to the workshop.

Tony never mentioned it, but he had assumed that he was just bored, or needed a quiet place to sketch. In hindsight, Steve must've sensed that Tony would've simply gone nuts without any sort of presence in the workshop with him. He could spend hours, even days in here but he had never really been _alone_. There had always been JARVIS to comment on his relentless gibberish and to go through his science projects with him.

“I'm currently looking through the reports concerning the JARVIS-incident and I noticed something. In one of them the key data to JARVIS' development history is listed. From it's first construction to the point where you took up the programming again and so forth.“

Tony waved his hand to indicate for Steve to go on. Paper crinkled once more.

“Tony …“, he began hesitantly. “Didn't you say that you originally created JARVIS out of boredom? Because your parents went away for two weeks?“

“Yes, exactly.“

“Here it says the first creation date is identical with–“

“JARVIS.“

_//Yes, Sir?//_

“Please save the latest changes on the project. That's enough for today.“

_//Can do.//_

The helicarrier's prototype flickered for a short moment, collapsed into itself and vanished without a sound in the tabletob. Tony stared at the blue glow, that still flickered inside for a second like a slowly dying down arc-reactor. He blinked, ran one hand through his already messy hair and turned around energetically.

“Are you bent on having pizza? I am starving.“

Steve looked at him confused before he closed the folder with the reports and put it away. “Tony …“

“Or maybe chinese? Fried noodles sound good right now. What are you up for?“

“I'm not really up for anything.“

“Don't tell me you're not hungry! You're _always_ hungry!“ That wasn't an exaggeration. Cap's enhanced super soldier metabolism ensured that he could wolf down quantities of food. “Ha! I know. We could go into that one diner, the one with the killer burgers. And fries. And milkshakes.“

“But the date–“

“I _know_ , Steve“, he gave in with a sigh. “I know. You don't have to tell me again, I was there. I already explained it to you: I was bored.“

“And alone“, Steve added, insistent.

“And alone“, Tony nodded.

“That wasn't the first time, was it?“

he shrugged. “And not the last either. No big deal. Don't sweat it, Cap.“

There. There it was again: That “Oh, _Tony_ “–furrow on Cap's face. Tony had learned in the meantime, that it wasn't exactly anger – often but not always –, which Steve wanted to show that way but frustration. Helplessness. Or simply despair about the fact that Tony was again dancing around a subject, that was hitting too close to home. Not that this had ever stopped Steve. He was Captain America, he could be very convincing.

“No, I mean it“, he added, because he knew Steve wouldn't let the subject go just like that. He tried to grin non-chalantly but felt more like an askew Picasso. “Yes, my parents did leave me alone. Yes, it wasn't always great. But it wasn't like I couldn't look after myself. This there“, he wagged his hand in the direction of the file “… that's the past. You can't change it anymore.“

Steve seemed to commiserate exactly that. “It's just … Howard was …“

Precisely. _Howard._ Tony knew by now that Steve and his father had been friends. That he had a whole other image of him than Tony. How strange and hard it had to be to lay these pictures side by side and realize that they weren't alike.

Tony asked himself unexpectedly when the rule had become inoperative that said that Captain America was too much _past_. Because, Jesus Christ, he still was: too much past. But when he questioned himself, he first had to ask when this had become irrelevant. Or when, not tainting Steve's memories, had gotten more important. Or when both of them had – somehow, clandestinely – become something like friends.

“Howard was many things“, he said at last diplomatically. “It's okay.“

“It is _not_ okay.“

Tony fell silent, because he didn't know how to respond. Because it obviously wasn't okay to neglect your son, or plainly ignore him. Because sometimes he still hated his father and wished that he didn't. Because Steve took something to heart, that he didn't even need to take to heart. And because this was so incredibly Steve-like, that he sometimes didn't know how to deal with that.

“At least“, he uttert with a hoarse voice, cleared his throat, then started again. “At least it created JARVIS. That's one good thing, isn't it?“

“Right.“

Steve still had this pinched, serious expression (wasn't it exhausting to constantly look like this?), but on his lips lingered the ghost of a wistful smile. Tony didn't have a clue why Steve would be wistful but he didn't want it to be because of him. Moreover he really, _really_ wanted to end this conversation.

“Pizza?“, he asked full of hope (and just a little bit desperate).

Steve's smile got softer and a warm twinkle formed in his eyes and while he collected his documents he nodded to Tony.

“Pizza.“

**v.7.7.6.2**

_//Sir?//_

“Mmm?“

_//Captain Rogers is upstairs and waiting for you.//_

“Mmm.“

_//incidentially it just turned 0.00 o'clock. May I take the liberty of being the first one to congratulate you to your birthday?//_

“Crap, it's already time again?“

_//Yes, I'm afraid, Sir.//_

“Well then. Thank you.“

_//You're welcome.//_

“Tell Steve I'll be up in a minute. – Oh, and JARVIS?“

_//Yes?//_

“Happy birthday to you too.“

_//Thank you, Sir.//_


End file.
